


Of Flannel Sheets

by Crowgirl



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 14:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: The flu. He fuckinghatesthe flu.





	Of Flannel Sheets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Catchclaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/gifts).



The flu. He fucking _hates_ the flu. Well, that’s what you get for trying to fight evil and getting dunked in the East River. It takes Tony a minute to shove himself up and away from the toilet after the fourth bout but he manages it and wobbles out to the sink which he fills with water and just dunks his head into.

When he comes up, snorting, the first thing he sees is Bucky frowning at him in the mirror.

‘Wad are you doing here?’ Tony asks, fumbling for a towel which Bucky hands him.

‘Why aren't you in bed.'

Tony mops himself off with the towel and squints at Bucky. ‘Didn’t want to puke in it.’

Bucky frowns. ‘That bad? Should I get Bruce?’

‘No, no, no… He’ll just… cluck at me and make me drink tea.’ Tony buries his face in the towel again and wishes his mouth didn’t taste like the inside of a drainpipe. When he emerges from the towel this time, Bucky is holding out a bottle of mouthwash. ‘What?’

‘Take it. Rinse your mouth out.’ Bucky shakes the bottle at him until he takes it and takes the damp towel from Tony, spreading it neatly over the shower door.

Tony takes the mouthwash and rinses his mouth out because the only other option is arguing with Bucky and that’s difficult when he doesn’t have a fever and, shit, he has a fever and what the fuck did he do to deserve this. He spits out the mouthful of blue foam and regards himself gloomily in the mirror. 

‘Shit.’

‘C’mon.’ Bucky claps hands on his shoulders. ‘Lets get you to bed.’

It’s a mark of how absolutely shit he feels, Tony thinks, that he can’t even be bothered to come up with the faintest prurient thrill at Bucky saying ‘bed.’ That’s if he had ever had a prurient thrill over that. Which, of course, he hadn't. Because he isn't the type of man to daydream about a friend's boyfriend. Or the friend. Because that would be stupid. And Tony is not stupid.

Bucky steers him out of the bathroom and over to his bed; he keeps one hand on Tony’s arm while he tugs back the covers, then stands back. ‘Okay, go on.’

Tony steps towards the bed, then balks. 

‘What?’

Tony shakes his head, then clutches at it. ‘Oh, shit...’

‘D’you need the bathroom again?’

‘No, no, but--’ Tony waves his free hand at the bed, squeezing his eyes shut. ‘That’s wrong.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I don’t know but that’s not right.’

‘Tony, this is your bedroom, we just came out of your bathroom, and that’s your bed,’ Bucky says, elaborately patient and gently trying to push Tony towards the mattress. Tony can’t really resist, so he lets himself be guided down onto sheets that are far too soft to be his and covered up with bedclothes that definitely smell too fresh to be his. 'There's something wrong with this,’ he tells Bucky, who nods patiently and pats the covers down over him.

‘Why don’t you worry about it later, okay?’ The mattress dips and the bedframe resettles and before Tony can think of anything to say, Bucky has settled himself on the empty side of the bed and is stroking Tony’s hair back off his forehead. 

Fever, Tony decides foggily. Fever is the only way to account for -- any of this. 

‘Steve fixed the bed for you,’ Bucky says softly after a few minutes.

Tony can only manage a vaguely interrogative sound.

'He swears flannel sheets will cure anything. Felt bad about you getting sick.'

'Mmph,' Tony responds, turning towards Bucky. 'Not his fault.'

'I think he feels bad about you getting tossed in the river.'

Tony shrugs, or tries to. He's falling asleep fast. 'Oc's always hated me. Just 'cause my suit works and his doesn't.'

* * *

'So this is what I find,' is the next thing Tony hears: Steve's deep voice and the click of the door closing. 

Tony's pillow shudders and he realises it's no longer half Bucky: he's entirely lying _on_ Bucky.

He tries to push himself up and away from Steve's boyfriend but there is nowhere he can put his hands that isn't potentially humiliating and his nose is starting to run already so he makes a tactical decision and dives for tissues instead. 

Over the wodge of tissues he presses to his nose, he watches Steve come across the room, kiss Bucky hello, and settle on the edge of the bed. 'How are you feeling, Tony?'

'Fever's gone down, vomiting's stopped,' Bucky reports before Tony can say anything and then Tony goggles at him for a minute for a change. Bucky simply smiles back calmly and resettles himself against the pillows and the headboard.

'Wha’d’hell is habbening?' Tony asks through the tissues. His head does feel clearer and his t-shirt is uncomfortably sticky under the arms which probably means Bucky's right and the fever broke in his sleep but how the hell-- 'You changed my sheets,' he tells Steve accusatorially. 

Steve nods. 'Did you like them? Did he like them?' he asks Bucky when Tony has, of necessity, to become occupied with his nose again.

Bucky shrugs. 'He seemed a bit weirded out.'

'Oh.' Steve's eyebrows draw together and he looks over at Tony. 'I'm sorry. I thought they'd be more comfortable for you.'

Tony trumpets into the tissues one last time, mops himself up, and drops the whole wad into the wastebasket beside the bed. ‘They're very comfortable,' he says, pleased to hear himself saying 'th' again. 'That's not the point. What the hell did you change my sheets for?'

'You weren't taking care of yourself,' Steve says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world and not as if it is the most annoying which is something Tony isn't used to.

So Tony blinks at him. 'And? So? I never take care of myself! Uh -- did I just say that aloud?'

Bucky nods. 'You did.' 

'Shit.'

'No, you never do,' Steve says, but, again, not as if this is the earth shakingly annoying thing it has been made out to be in the past. Just as if it's a thing. A thing that happens. A thing that Tony does like always pulling toast out too early or forgetting he's put the kettle on or programming Roombas so they haunt Bruce's heels and chirp at him.

'I have no idea what the fuck is happening,' Tony says, and sneezes again, burying his face in his hands. When he resurfaces, Steve is holding out a clean handkerchief which Tony takes -- because he has to -- and uses -- because he has to -- and then stares at. ‘What is happening?’

‘You never take care of yourself,’ Steve says with a slight shrug, settling back against the headboard beside Bucky.

‘So someone has to do it,’ Bucky adds, patting Steve’s knee. 

‘I -- just -- okay,’ Tony says slowly. ‘That’s -- thanks? I mean -- yes -- thanks, I -- thank you. That’s -- but --’ He waves a hand at them and only too late realises it’s the hand with the dirty handkerchief. ‘-- you -- don’t have to stay.’ 

‘What if we want to?’ Bucky asks and Tony tries to snort but just ends up making his sinuses ache.

‘Then you’re nuts.’

‘Eh. I’ve heard worse.’

‘Look, I promise I’ll give you the handkerchief back, okay? It’s fine -- I’m fine. The sheets are -- are nice, they’re great, thank you but--’ 

Steve leans across the bed and presses the back of his hand to Tony’s forehead, forestalling anything Tony might have been about to say. He almost makes himself go cross-eyed staring at the underside of Steve’s wrist.

‘You’re still pretty hot,’ Steve says, sitting back. ‘I think you need someone to keep an eye on you.’

‘JARVIS can--’

‘Hey, Tony, I was wondering. Do you know who found that chicken soup from the place in the Bronx when I had a cold last month?’ Steve interrupts.

‘Uh --’ Tony blinks. ‘What?’

‘Oh, yeah, and do you know anything about the feather pillows from when I cracked my neck a few months back?’ Bucky chimes in. 

‘I--’

‘And all those Burns and Allen shows?’

‘And those little French cigars.’ Bucky makes a chef’s kiss gesture. ‘Don’t forget those.’ 

‘And that cologne. Hadn’t seen that since Italy in 1942.’

Bucky grins and gives Steve a frankly lascivious look. ‘Yeah, I definitely wanna thank someone for that.’

‘Look, I--’

Steve leans across the bed again, planting one hand on the mattress beside Bucky’s thigh. ‘We’re not stupid, Tony.’

Tony swallows hard and considers claiming he has to puke again. 

‘You’ve been flirting with us for months. And, yeah, okay, you getting the stomach flu isn’t exactly...perfect--’

‘Hell, no, it ain’t,’ Bucky mutters.

‘--but we’re not going to leave you alone when you’re sick.’

‘Those were just...I just thought you’d… like ‘em,’ Tony tries helplessly. He doesn’t really want to convince either of them, to be quite honest. If it weren’t for the pounding headache and feeling like he’d just gone five rounds with Nat in the ring, he’d be jumping up and down and cackling for sheer glee. ‘It wasn’t -- I wasn’t--’

Steve shakes his head firmly. ‘Yeah, you were. You are. We are.’ He reaches across Bucky again and puts his hand on Tony’s knee under the blankets. ‘Now go back to sleep so you can get better--’

‘--so we can fuck you stupid,’ Bucky breaks in and Steve sighs. 

‘I was going to say talk but--’

‘C’mon, babe, you know I can read your mind.’ Bucky nudges Steve with one shoulder and Steve shakes his head. 

‘Well. Talk first then.’


End file.
